Tea and Sympathy
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Written for Drown Malcolm Month. Do I need to say more?


Author's note: Beta'd by Kylie Lee

* * *

Malcolm flailed about with one arm in an attempt to reach the tissues. He didn't want to sneeze again without something to cover his mouth and nose. The last time he had done that, the result hadn't been pretty, and he'd had to rush to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

He stopped thrashing as he realized that he wasn't going to reach the tissues in time. Instead, he shut his eyes. For good measure, he pinched his nose. After a few tense moments, the urge to sneeze subsided. With a long exhalation, he let go of his nose. When he was certain he wasn't going to sneeze, he opened his eyes.

And almost fell off the biobed in shock.

Trip, a cup in his hand, was standing next to his bed. He hadn't been there when Malcolm had closed his eyes. He'd been concentrating so hard on not sneezing that he'd blocked everything out, including the engineer's approach.

"Are you all right?" Trip asked.

Malcolm let out a sigh. What a stupid question! Of course he wasn't all right. He wouldn't be in sickbay if he was all right. But the virus he'd picked up on a recent mission had completely taken the wind out of his sails. Why it had affected him so badly and no one else was a mystery, although Doctor Phlox had said something about his immune system being depleted by his allergies at the time he'd been infected. Phlox had also said it was his own fault for forgetting to get his allergy shot. But just because he was cranky and tired of being laid up was no reason to take it out on Trip.

"Just fighting off a sneeze," Malcolm said wearily.

Trip's concerned expression lightened. He held out the cup. "Brought you something. Thought it might make you feel better."

"That's very thoughtful," Malcolm said. He motioned for Trip to put the cup on the side table. "Help me up and I'll try some of it."

Trip put down the cup and raised the head of the biobed so that Malcolm was in a sitting position. Then he retrieved the cup and gingerly handed it to his sick friend. It was black tea. A few wisps of steam rose from it--hot, just the way Malcolm liked it.

"Lovely," Malcolm murmured appreciatively and took a sip, only to gag and almost spit it back out. By sheer force of will, he managed to swallow.

"What's the matter?" Trip asked in alarm.

Malcolm, eyes watering and nose running, had to cough several times before he could reply. "Whatever this is I've contracted seems to have affected my taste buds," he said when he could speak. "I told Phlox about it, but he didn't seem concerned. He said I'd get over it."

"That's terrible, Malcolm," Trip commiserated. "I know tea is your favorite drink. And it's important to keep hydrated when you're sick." The engineer shifted on his feet. "I've got to get back to engineering. I just stopped in to see how you were doing and to give you the tea. Maybe later it will taste better."

Malcolm nodded, not wanting to hurt Trip's feelings by telling him the tea had tasted like engine sludge. The way his ailment was progressing, he seriously doubted anything would taste better for weeks. Under Trip's watchful eyes, he carefully placed the cup on the side table. As soon as his friend walked out of sickbay, he leaned over and dumped the contents of the cup into a trash can next to his bed. That small effort tired him, and he leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

He must have drifted off to sleep, for the next time he opened his eyes, another person was standing next to his bed, looking down at him in concern.

"Malcolm?" asked Jon. "How are you doing?"

Malcolm, despite feeling like he'd been shot out of one of the torpedo tubes in the armory, struggled to sit up straighter in the presence of the captain. Jon quickly put down the cylindrical container he'd brought with him and hastened to adjust the pillow behind his tactical officer's head.

"I'm glad you're awake," Jon said as he stepped back. "I brought you something. I had Chef prepare it for you." Malcolm lifted an eyebrow when Jon opened the metallic container. As he poured some of the contents into the empty cup left from Trip's visit, Jon said, "This is Chef's own special cold remedy. Orange pekoe tea with lemon and sugar."

Malcolm only drank orange pekoe under duress. The captain, of course, couldn't have known that. In any case, lemon and sugar was not what he liked in his tea. If he added anything, it was milk. Because of his illness, however, the thought of dairy products made his stomach lurch. He frowned as new rumblings of distress came from his digestive tract.

"Try it," Jon urged, holding the cup out toward him. "Chef wants to know how you like it."

He could hardly turn down the captain. The insistent way in which Jon had thrust the cup toward him was almost an order in itself. With a strained smile, Malcolm reached out with both hands to take the tea. The first thing he noticed was that, despite being transported in an insulated container, the tea wasn't hot. Nor was it cold, as was the iced tea that Jon preferred. It was lukewarm. If there was any form of tea that Malcolm absolutely couldn't abide, it was room-temperature tea. The lemon and sugar were only an added insult.

Aware of the captain watching him, Malcolm forced himself to take a tiny swallow. He couldn't help but grimace at the horrible, tepid taste.

Jon misunderstood his reaction. "Got a sore throat, too?" he asked.

Malcolm took the coward's way out and nodded in agreement. Actually, his throat was one of the few things that didn't ache. But the tea Jon had given him had both the consistency and the aroma of vinegar. The unwanted sensory memory of the smell of curdled milk made Malcolm groan. "Maybe I'll try some of it later," he managed to rasp out.

"You just get better," Jon said, taking the cup from Malcolm's unresisting hands and putting it on the side table. "I'll leave the tea right here where you can reach it."

Malcolm mustered a small smile as the captain took his leave. But as soon as Jon was out the door, Malcolm reached over and tipped the cup's contents into the trash can. The contents of the insulated cylinder quickly followed.

He'd no sooner finished that task and collapsed back on his bed when the sickbay doors swished open to admit two more visitors. His preference for tea was well known aboard the ship, but this was becoming ridiculous, he thought as T'Pol and Travis walked over to his bed. Each of them held a steaming cup of what he could only assume was tea. He repressed a sigh as they approached.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol greeted him. "Although Vulcans do not often succumb to the type of ailment to which you are suffering, Ensign Mayweather informs me that a 'nice cup of tea' often helps alleviate some of the symptoms."

Travis, grinning like the Cheshire cat, spoke up. "I was telling the Commander that my mother used to make hot tea with lots of sugar for me whenever I had a bad cold." He held out his cup. "But she always put an ice cube in it to cool it down so I wouldn't burn my mouth."

With a sniffle, Malcolm took the cup. He could see that the tea was very weak, with a layer of undissolved sugar coating the bottom. He wondered how many ice cubes Travis had put in. Coming from a long line of tea drinkers, Malcolm preferred his tea much stronger. As his Irish grandmother used to say, a cup of tea wasn't any good unless it was strong enough for a mouse to trot on. Any mouse that tried that with this cup of tea was going to have to make a swim for it.

Nevertheless, he said, "Thank you, Travis," making the helmsman smile with pleasure.

"I have brought you a cup of chamomile," T'Pol said, placing her cup on the bedside table. "I find it a very soothing beverage. I could procure a cup of mint tea if you prefer."

"No!" Malcolm said sharply, then caught himself. No matter that his father had always said that flavored teas were for sissies; T'Pol would find that illogical. She and Travis were only trying to be helpful. "This should do just fine," he fudged. "Thank you, Commander."

"You're welcome, Mister Reed." T'Pol glanced at Travis. "Come, Ensign. We should leave the lieutenant to his rest."

"If you need anything, let me know," Travis said as they made their way to the door.

Malcolm watched them go, then turned to what they had brought him. Weak tea and chamomile mingled as he poured the two cups' contents into the trash can. If he wasn't feeling so awful, the situation would be funny, he realized. He now had three empty cups and an insulated container on the bedside table, and hadn't had more than a teaspoon or so to drink from any of them. He was wondering if the virus was going to permanently affect his liking for tea when yet one more person walked through the sickbay doors. Of course she had a cup in her hands.

"Malcolm?" Hoshi asked worriedly. "Are you all right?"

He must look a fright for Hoshi to be so concerned. He gave her a wan smile, although he feared it was more of a grimace. "I've had better days," he said, "but Doctor Phlox assures me I'll live."

A relieved smile appeared on Hoshi's face. "Here. I brought you some green tea."

"Green tea?" he asked, his brow furrowed. How many more types of tea could there possibly be on board this ship?

"My grandmother swore by its healing power. I put a little honey in it."

Honey in tea? He'd heard of that, but he thought that was something singers did to preserve their voices. It was worth a try. With a start, he realized he was rather thirsty. The previous concoctions he'd been offered hadn't done anything to help that. He accepted the cup from Hoshi and held it under his nose as he tried to smell it. No good. His sense of smell was practically nonexistent since his nose had clogged again. As he put the cup to his lips, he could see the empty cups on the bedside table from the corner of his eye, and he almost balked at tasting this version. But Hoshi was watching him anxiously, so he cautiously swallowed a sip.

The tea tasted fuzzy. He smacked his lips a few times, trying to decide whether a small furry creature had been used in the brewing process. He cleared his throat, which wasn't easy, because the fuzzy, furry creature had apparently accompanied the hot liquid on its trip down his throat to his stomach. "I think I'll wait until it cools a bit," he said hoarsely.

With an understanding murmur, Hoshi took the cup from him and placed it on the side table. "You look like you could use some rest," she said. "I'll check on you later."

Malcolm watched through bleary eyes as she headed out of sickbay, but not before she stopped to coo to one of Phlox's creatures where it resided in a cage on one of the countertops. A horrifying thought suddenly occurred to him. Surely Hoshi wouldn't have resorted to one of the doctor's natural remedies without telling him she had put it in his tea.

That revolting thought was enough to prompt him to dump Hoshi's tea in the trash can the moment the door slid shut behind her. The sloshing sound as the tea splattered into the liquid already in the receptacle made his stomach heave. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, intending to hurry to the bathroom before his stomach could revolt, but one of his feet caught on the edge of the trash can. Down he went, landing flat out on the deck, the trash can crashing down as well to spill its watery contents all over him. The odd mixture of teas soaked through his sickbay pajamas as he floundered on the deck, and he accidentally got a mouthful as he turned his head toward the mess. He retched, trying to expel the most foul taste he'd ever had the misfortune to experience.

So of course that's when the sickbay doors opened yet again. Malcolm pushed himself up, not knowing whether to laugh at the absurdity of the situation or to throw up from the horrid tea, as Phlox hurried over to assist him.

"Now, now, Mr. Reed," the Denobulan physician said as he helped his patient to his feet. "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" Taking in Malcolm's soggy attire, he added, "You look like a drowned rat."

Malcolm gagged. The doctor's assessment of his physical condition was also an accurate description of what the mixture of teas had tasted like. Drowned rat! This time he knew the upheaval in his stomach would not be quelled. One hand over his mouth, he used his other to push Phlox away and rushed for the bathroom.

He barely made it in time as he heard Phlox call after him, "I have just the thing to soothe your stomach when you come back--a nice cup of tea."


End file.
